Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“You can throw the contracts I brought over in his suitcase,” Andi states, one foot out the door. “I’ll be here by eight tomorrow and the car by 8:30.”
“Got it. I’ll have him ready.”
“Amber, I know we just met but I feel like I can say anything to you.”
Obviously––she’s been talking nonstop. But why does this suddenly make me uncomfortable? Groan. The answer hits me in the gut. Because if she divulges her life long crush on her boss, I’ll get queasy. Looking into her eager and open expression, I brace for the worst.
“I’m really glad he met you. I couldn’t figure out how such a great guy didn’t have a girlfriend.”
Umm. Okay. Not what I expected. More importantly though, I can’t have her running around thinking or spreading rumors that Ethan and I are an item. Not with the possibility of Ethan getting disbarred. When did I start thinking of him as Ethan? Huh, weird.
“We’re not anything. It’s a long story that you don’t have time for, but in a few months I’ll be gone.”
Her delight wanes. “Bummer.”
“Nope. Besides, I’m not looking for anything, and neither is he.”
Her expression, wavering from suspicion to doubt, clears a moment later. I can see she doesn’t believe me. Regardless, she keeps her opinion to herself. “See you tomorrow.” In kitten heels, she gracefully glides down the limestone steps.
“Andi.” She turns toward me with a smile. “You and Ethan?”
Her pert nose scrunches up while the rest of her face twists into a disgusted scowl. “Gross. He’s like a brother to me. Incest isn’t my thing.”
After her colorful remark, she holds up an arm and in seconds a cab comes to a break neck stop before her. That’s never once happened to me. Not freaking once. And I’ve lived in this city for nine years. Apparently hailing a cab is a sensual act. I never got this memo.
“Gee wiz, what’s this?”
With feigned innocence, I hold up a jar of hair product. Ethan steps out of his walk in closet, two suits hanging from his good hand. As soon as his eyes zero in on what’s in mine, his expression turns sulky. I, instead, revel in my victory. “I’ll just put this in your fancy beauty case.”
“It’s a shaving kit.”
“Whatever, it’s Louis Vuitton.”
His brow bunches and he looks away. “I like the good stuff,” I’m pretty sure I catch him muttering under his breath. A stretch of silence follows. It prods me to glance up. I find his gaze heavy on me again. This time, however, his expression is contrite.
“What?”
“I need to apologize.” He drops the suits on the bed.
Abandoning the shaving kit among the rest of his things in the suitcase on the floor, I stand. “I overreacted,” I say, offering an olive branch of my own.
“No, you didn’t.” Walking closer, he sits at the end of his bed. “I shouldn’t have said that.” His eyes, filled with remorse, meet mine. “I shouldn’t have insinuated it about you.”
“You see a lot of that in your line of work. I get it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” In frustration, he rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to think that I make snap judgments about people like that. That’s not who I am.” He watches me expectantly. This expectant look is developing into a habit with him.
For what, though, I don’t know. Judgement? Absolution? I don’t hold it against him. I don’t know much, but I do know there’s a heavy penalty to pay for carrying grudges around. I learned that lesson the hard way.
“I know you’re one of the good guys.” After everything he’s done for me, this fact is indisputable. God knows if someone asked me to take in a virtual stranger, I’d immediately direct them to the Bellevue Hospital psych ward.
His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. Whatever crosses between us makes me uncomfortable. This entire conversation is making me uncomfortable. I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans to stop them from fidgeting.
“Is that what you think?” he murmurs.
“Yeah. I do.”
The mood grows more serious with every second that ticks by. He plucks at the loose end of his bandage. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”
“See, I’m good for something,” I throw out, hoping to tease him into a better mood. He doesn’t take the bait, though. Silence falls again. I’m about to leave when he clears his throat.
“No, Jones. You’re just plain good.”
My stomach drops. What in the ever-loving hell am I supposed to do with that?
“Friends, then?” I suggest in yet another attempt to steer us into a less awkward conversation.
He looks up then. “You want to be friends?”
I shrug, trying to act cool when I’m anything but. “This has the makings of an epic friendship. You’ve seen me naked. I’ve seen you naked––”